


Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang

by NoirRosaleen



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Dark Past, F/F, Improper Use of Firearms, M/M, Original Character Death(s), Originally Posted on LiveJournal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-03
Updated: 2012-01-03
Packaged: 2017-12-09 21:51:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/778371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoirRosaleen/pseuds/NoirRosaleen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sally doesn't like Sherlock. It's not because of his fascination with death, though, but because she understands it all too well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang

It's well-known Sally doesn't like Sherlock. Something about him had put her back up from Day One, although nobody was quite sure why. The very sight of him sweeping in the door, his coat swirling dramatically, would set her mouth in a firm line and cause her arms to cross, her shoulders squaring as if about to take on a heavy load.

Lestrade assumed it was because of Sherlock's unorthodox ways and arrogant attitude. Anderson was pretty sure Sherlock's fascination with violent crimes turned her stomach. The rest of the team had varying theories, but Sally's dragonlike scowl had stopped anyone from asking.

The brown-haired, caramel-skinned woman lazily trailing her fingers across Sally's smooth shoulders knew better. "What's he done this time, love?" she asked softly, stroking down the dusky back she adored.

"Mmph," Sally groaned into the pillow she had her arms wrapped around. "This was a bad one, gorgeous. Two men gibbering in terror and one woman dead, possibly frightened to death, all siblings. No idea what triggered the madness, though we've got CSI on it. He came sweeping in, carefree as you please, absolutely delighted by mystery of it all. Doesn't care a whit the woman died and her brothers will probably be stuck in an asylum for the rest of their lives."

"You know that's the difference between you, right?" her lover asked, placing a kiss on her lower back. "You care."

"Nrrrg," Sally replied, grimacing into the pillow. "No it's not! He cares too, just differently." She punched the pillow and rolled over to look at the other woman, frustration evident on her face. "And he doesn't care to show it. He gets off on being this untouchable being, nothing ever affecting him, even after the fiasco at the pool. He almost died, and I'd be willing to wager it was for Watson, but he won't admit it! One day all that buried emotion is going to wreck him, I'd bet anything."

"Oh?" Chocolate eyes smouldered, and suddenly Sally was very aware of her nude state. "Anything?"

Sally smiled slowly, knowing she was being distracted, but not minding very much. "Mmmh...not against you, love. Your forfeits are a little too interesting for my taste. However..." She crawled forward and kissed the other woman slowly, running two fingers up her stomach and around one breast, tweaking the already-hardened nipple there. Her lover squeaked and leaned into the kiss, swaying slightly as she reached for Sally.

~~~~~

To say Sherlock's fascination with death disturbed Sally was putting it mildly. It wasn't how he examined the corpses, or talked about the cases, or even how he clapped in glee at the really twisted, seemingly unsolvable deaths. It was that a part of her was clapping too, a part she had tried to bury ten years ago, after The Incident. Sally Donovan had had another name once, and another job, although not even her superiors had managed to figure it out. Once or twice in the early days of working under Lestrade, she had caught him looking at her, serious eyes quizzical. She had been almost grateful when Sherlock had come along, all pretty and strung out and brilliant, a perfect distraction from the mystery of Donovan. She was even more grateful after something - or somebody - else had drawn the DI's amorous attention away from Sherlock, a week after the ex-junkie had come to them, using cases to get himself clean. She had seen where such infatuations could lead; Sherlock burned too brightly for mere mortals like her boss to cling to without getting badly damaged. She did wonder who it was, but she had never seen him with anyone, just noticed a slight cooling in the gaze Lestrade turned upon Sherlock, and occasionally a tiny smile when he spotted a security camera, or when they came back from a long chase to white paper bags on his desk magically filled with excellent takeaway. That mystery she had prudently left unexplored.

She had her suspicions, however, after a black sedan had taken her to an old church at an improbable hour for an interview with a man who wanted information on Sherlock. Sally had looked at him stony-faced, uninterested in halting the show which kept Lestrade's too-seeing eyes on her own slightly foggy background. "I can assure you, Sally, Lestrade won't be looking into certain...discrepancies, shall we say, in your own past," the ginger-haired man had said, and she'd clamped down on the slight urge to start. "I believe he will have his hands full with...Sherlock for some time. Simple information won't be a hindrance."

Crossing her arms, she'd only cocked an eyebrow and stayed silent. Although the oh-so-polite abduction, drive in virtual silence, and the man himself had her wound up inside like a clockwork toy, she would be damned if some toff in a flash suit got her spilling secrets about anybody Lestrade thought they needed, even if she did dislike Sherlock intensely. Also, this didn't have the feel of a bad situation, so she simply waited until the man's smile had broadened, and he'd dismissed her with the information that the car would take her "wherever you desire". Getting back into the car, she looked over at the quite breathtaking young woman glued to her Blackberry.

"I'm told this car will take me, ah, ’wherever I desire,’" Sally remarked in a neutral tone.

The dark eyes stayed glued to the Blackberry. "And where do you desire to go?"

"That depends. Do you fancy a coffee?"

The eyes flicked up, met Sally's. After a pregnant pause, "As a matter of fact, I know a nice little cafe open late near here."

~~~~~

It came as a bit of a shock, some months later, coming home to her (girlfriend? lover? complication?) sitting crosslegged on her bed, nude except for a few smudges of gun oil. In front of her was a piece of history Sally had tried very hard to forget. She looked up, her eyes clear and serene. "An L96A1?"

"I..." Sally trailed off. There was no condemnation in those eyes, merely curiosity. Intuition settled in her gut. "You know."

"I do," the calm-eyed woman replied, running her hand along the stock. "My boss thought I should know, once he realised how close we’d become."

Fury flashed through Sally, followed closely by chagrin and a slew of other emotions - guilt, fear, anxiety, hope. "And..."

"And I think the woman standing in front of me is no longer the one who held this gun," she said, smiling. "Come here."

If someone had told Sally that someday she’d get wet over a gorgeous woman wearing nothing but gun oil like expensive perfume, she would’ve told them to bugger off. The sparkle in her lover’s eyes, though, and the way she handled the sniper rifle (Sally would wager she could disassemble it herself, although nothing in her previous experience had clued her into such expertise) combined with the quiet order into her mouth going dry and liquid heat between her legs. She swallowed and walked to the bed, as the gun was carefully checked and put aside on the nightstand. Then she was standing over the caramel-skinned woman, her shirt being expertly unbuttoned and slid over her shoulders to the floor. As the nimble fingers dropped to her slacks, Sally ran her fingers through the other woman’s hair, sighing softly, and warm hands slid inside her slacks and pushed them down.

“Come here,” her lover whispered again, crawling backward on the bed, and Sally followed until she was pressed right up against the other woman, seeking that lovely mouth for a kiss, and another and another, fingers twining in hair and gripping sides. They were both gasping softly now, little moans of pleasure and want. The kisses were amalgams of tongues and teeth and lips, still a bit awkward in alignment, but the heat Sally could feel against her thigh was rapidly becoming familiar. It had taken them awhile to fall into bed together, but they were rather well-suited, and now more often than not they shared a bed. Sally knew after weeks of experience that the matched set of comfortable yet sexy bra and thong she still wore gave her lover a certain extra thrill, so now she pulled away, lying back on the bed in a fashion that would’ve made anyone who knew her at the office stare in disbelief.

“Well, here I am…what are you going to do about it?” The look of sheer lust in her lover’s eyes put an extra sultriness in Sally’s voice, and the smile she wore was wicked.

“Mmmmm…quite a bit…” the other woman purred back, as she positioned herself on her knees between Sally’s legs. “Close your eyes, lovely.”

Smiling, Sally did so, stretching luxuriously in a fashion that she knew made her lover stare. A heartbeat later there was a slow, hot breath on the inside of her knee, followed by a tiny nip. The other leg, slightly above the knee, was treated similarly, followed by a teasing tongue. Slowly but surely, the clever mouth worked its way up Sally’s legs, making her breathing come faster, until just outside her knickers. Arms slipped over Sally’s legs, and hands smoothed their way up her ribcage as weight pressed against her hips. She arched her back as fingers dipped into the top of the bra and found her nipples, a quiet “ahhh-aaa!” escaping her mouth. The weight moved, redistributed, and pressed firmly down on her hips as fingers peeled away the top of one cup and the clever mouth attached itself to the exposed nipple, making Sally’s response increase in volume. The other nipple was twisted gently, which made Sally try to buck against the weight on her hips.

A soft chuckle met the involuntary response. “I do love the way you sound when I do this…” her lover breathed, flicking her tongue against the already-wet nub she’d been worrying lightly with her teeth. “Hold still a mo.”

The bed creaked as the weight left Sally’s hips, and soft sounds from her left indicated her lover was grabbing…something…no, a few somethings from the side of the bed. She fought the urge to open her eyes, wanting the surprise more than the curiosity satisfied. A hand gently took her wrist, and she shivered; they’d played at restraint a bit, and she’d liked it, although not for everyday sex. “You realise I need to punish you for not telling me first, don’t you?”

Sally’s breath caught. “What?”

Rope wrapped about her wrist, quickly and efficiently tied, and was then attached to…a cold metal pipe. Her other wrist had received the same treatment, although the metal under the other wrist was much bulkier, when it finally made sense. “Oh my god – what are you doing?”

“I think you know. It’s safe, but I want you to feel at least a little discomfort.”

A little discomfort was not what Sally was feeling at the moment. As her head was lifted and a blindfold put on, followed by her head being lowered with a somewhat bulky, cold object placed under her neck, her breath came hot and quick, a jumble of shock and outrage and raging lust searing through her. The lust was quickly overtaking everything else, as the L96A1 under her neck forced her arms to the bed, her wrists tied over the handle and barrel, keeping her from reaching upward but not pushing them into the bed. This was sick, sick, sick, but the idea of being tied to her own gun (unloaded, but the darker part of her reveled in the idea of bullets still in the chamber) was making her hotter than anything she could remember.

The clip on the front of her bra popped open, and warm, slightly oily hands massaged her breasts as her mouth was plundered greedily. A small lifetime passed before her lover broke away. Sally heard as if from far away a needy whimper rising out of her own mouth. A little, breathless laugh answered it as her thong was dragged slowly down her legs. “God, if I’d known you’d react like this…I wish I’d found out ages ago!”

The pop of a flip-top drew Sally’s attention – what was left, at any rate – and her lover scooted up, back to where she had started. Cold lube hitting her engorged clit (really, the aim was incredible) evoked an immediate cry in response, and she thrashed hard once before hands clamped down on her thighs, pushing them down and open again. Trembling, she tried to hold still, and once again cold liquid dripped from her mound and between her swollen lips. The liquid stopped, and she heard obscene slippery noises before the click of the bottle closing.

“Hold still, darling,” her lover’s voice murmured, even as slightly colder fingers pressed against her, rubbing a little before slipping inside her heat. Long, exploratory strokes made it very, very hard not to move; as two fingertips found the slightly rougher area of her G-spot a tiny portion of her was certain that holding still wasn’t supposed to be easy. A thumb suddenly rubbing circles on her clit (how in the hell did one do that?!) tore a shriek from Sally’s throat, as the fingers pressed up in a come-here motion did, indeed, make her come right there.

Never before had she reached orgasm so quickly. The shudders running through her body and the throbbing between her legs suggested it would not be the last one of the evening. Sally had known she had a sick obsession with death, but this – bringing Death into her bedroom, so to speak – was a kink she had never even dreamed about.

“Well,” the ever-so-slightly shocked tone evident in the other woman’s voice, “that was quick. I wonder…”

The fingers withdrew, and blunt pressure started stretching the now thoroughly-soaked opening. Sally moaned, pulling against her restraints a bit, and parted her thighs further. The bed dipped a little on either side of her, and slowly but surely Sally was filled with what had to be the largest strap-on her lover had ever brought to bed. Wrapping her legs around her lover’s, Sally thrust her hips eagerly, gasping and crying out. If the size had been part of her punishment, it was evident that it was not remotely one at all, as once, twice, three times more she tumbled over the edge, and the other woman panted and moaned right along with her, evidently having padded the strap-on to hit her own buttons nicely as well. After her lover had shaken through another seemingly intense orgasm, Sally managed to beg, “Please, I don’t think…”

Which was the cue for the fifth orgasm to hit her.

Much later, when the gun had been put away and the sweat was cooling, Sally asked sleepily, "You really don't mind? What I was?"

"Why should I?" the other woman murmured into her hair. "You've been on the straight and narrow for years. We seem to have discovered a way to keep your darker side tamed for good, one I think we both, mmm, enjoyed thoroughly. Also,” she said impishly, “my boss would have extricated me if necessary."

"Nosy one, your boss," Sally muttered.

"He protects his investments. I happen to be one of them."

"And you're ok with that?" she asked, rolling back and looking up at the woman who'd become so inextricably tangled in her life and her heart.

"The perks are worth it," she smiled, leaning down to kiss Sally lovingly.

~~~~~

Sally was never quite certain what Sherlock knew about her. Every once in awhile, his eyes would light on her disconcertingly, and so she’d begun a subtle little dance, ramping up her friendship with Anderson, even helping him deep-clean the house as a surprise for his wife when she was off tending her sick mother. He’d insisted she stay the night once they realised how late it had gotten, gallantly offering her the bed while he kipped on the sofa. The next evening, when Sherlock had jumped to the obvious conclusion, she feigned outrage, but inside she smiled. Pulling one over on the great Sherlock Holmes was something she’d have to tell her (now-official) girlfriend about later.

The man next to Sherlock, however, had surprised her. “Colleague? How do you get a colleague?” she’d asked incredulously, quirking a sarcastic eyebrow. “What, did he follow you home?”

The man had looked uncomfortable and offered to stay out, but Sherlock insisted. Sally hadn’t fought it very hard, and she suspected the distraction of this Dr. John Watson had kept Sherlock from querying his assumption of what Sally had been doing at Anderson’s house. Her chat with John after Sherlock had abandoned him at the crime scene, however, probably would have told Sherlock entirely more than she would have preferred, but she doubted a doctor would catch the hint of first-hand knowledge about the placement of bodies, and he seemed a nice enough bloke that she figured he deserved the warning. There must have been more about him than met the eye, though, as he not only moved in with the freak (a term she had worn herself, another life ago) but also brought Sherlock to the abrupt realisation he did, in fact, have a heart, something she gleefully shared with her girlfriend. The thoughtful look with which she greeted this announcement, though, silenced Sally’s amusement. “What?” she asked, setting down her wine glass and looking questioningly across the dinner table.

“I’m…not entirely surprised by that, as a matter of fact. I’ve met John.” She sipped her wine, looking the tiniest bit flustered.

“Oh, one of your employer’s famous kidnappings?” Sally said dryly.

“As a matter of fact,” she replied, looking at Sally over her wineglass, “he tried to pick me up.”

“No!” Giggling, Sally neatly twirled more of the excellent pasta onto her fork. “How did that go?”

“I’m sure he thought he was very smooth,” grinned her lover. “However, I have to admit I shot him down a little more kindly than I would’ve otherwise.”

“Why, d’you think he’s sweet?” Sally asked, mock-jealously.

“As a matter of fact I do…rather like a puppy hoping for a treat,” she said, the grin getting wider.

“You are a terrible woman, you know that?”

“I think you’ve mentioned it on occasion, yes.” The look in her eyes made Sally suddenly uninterested in the rest of their dinner.

~~~~~  
As it happened, though, it was John who discovered Sally’s secret, not Sherlock.

Something about the location of this crime scene was niggling at Sally as Sherlock and John walked up. The tape was laid out and she was assigned perimeter duty, which meant holding the blasted tape for the Dynamic Duo and Sherlock’s sneering greeting. Her response wasn’t as acid as always, though, since even from there the way the body was lying and angle of impact was ringing small alarm bells in her head. After doing his usual morbid waltz about the corpse, Sherlock waved John over to one side street as he himself ran down another, leaving Scotland Yard standing around looking like idiots (again, God Sally hated when he made what had been an unsolvable mystery look like primary school). Suddenly something sickeningly familiar at the corner of her eye - an incorrect shadow, a tiny bit of movement - made things coalesce in Sally’s brain the way she imagined it did in Sherlock’s. She lit out after John, yelling his name past the lump in her throat she was certain was her stomach.

Turning around the corner she slammed into him. He was already stock-still in what she belatedly realised was a military fashion of taking cover. A bullet whined menacingly past her ear. Whipping around, she hurled herself against the wall. Curses ran through her mind as she put together who exactly was up there, and what they were firing at them – at her, this was about her, and what in God’s name was she going to do about it? She wished desperately for a gun.

“Stay here!” John (no, Watson, the man beside her was all soldier) ordered. He dashed farther down the street and up a rickety-looking fire escape. She noticed in passing there was a lump right about the level of his waistband in back. Sally sourly guessed while she was unarmed, Watson most certainly was not.

Juliet, her former partner. It had been ten years, but Juliet had found her, and was clearly making sure her talents were no longer going to assist London’s finest. Sally was a little surprised it hadn’t been Tango or Lima. She had considered them better than her, back when she’d been Sierra, and Juliet the same sort of grunt in their extremely black-ops mercenary company. The person behind the scope wasn’t crucial though, it was the fact they were there. A tiny part of her brain was running in circles trying to figure out what she was going to do if Juliet was caught alive, if she was going to be exposed. The rest started going through what she knew of Juliet’s MO. If her pattern held, dropping to the ground, closing her eyes, and plugging her ears right about now would be -

As expected, a flash-bang went off about ten feet ahead of her. Jumping to her feet, Sally ran forward, as hard as she could, to surprise her enemy with uncharacteristic brass. As she did, a strangled cry came from the top of the building Sally had figured Juliet was on. She glanced up in surprise to see someone - someone terribly limp – falling silently to the ground. Watson stood atop the building, looking hard and sad, and met Sally’s eyes as he shook his head.

~~~~~  
After Sherlock began rapidly deducing the crime scene, now with added murderer, John caught Sally’s eye. Reluctantly, she fell back a bit from the detective’s circle of influence and let John sidle up to her.

“Pity about the woman. She seemed very determined not to get caught…had I known she had something as cliché as a poison tooth, I’d’ve – well.” He almost looked embarrassed at having been caught off guard. Looking at her sidelong, he went on, “Good job you figured out where she was.”

“I guess I must’ve caught a glimpse of the gun barrel,” Sally said neutrally.

“Mm. Very fast reflexes. Reminds me of a mate I had in the sandbox. We all reckoned he used to be some sort of special forces,” John commented. “Last I’d heard he got tapped for sniper duty.”

“Is that right,” she replied, mouth slightly dry.

“Yup,” he said, then paused. “He was a good man.” The clear eyes he turned to her were open, and the question in them could have been interpreted by a child.

“I had a couple of friends who said I’d do well in the army,” Sally said slowly. “Got a bit sidetracked on the way there, though.”

“Seems a shame. But then, I suspect Lestrade wouldn’t have you if you’d gone to Afghanistan, would he?” John said with a shrug.

“Suppose not. I’m glad he does, though…I think I make more of a difference here,” she noted.

John flashed a quick smile at her, then drifted unobtrusively back over to Sherlock. Sally watched him go with a purely internal sigh of relief. John’s moral code was ironclad, but not always completely law-abiding. If he was content Sally was a good person, he would hold his silence…probably even to Sherlock. He also wouldn’t ask any more questions.

Fortunately, Sherlock had already pegged the dead man as Juliet’s target, and didn’t seem to think she had been specifically after Sally. It had probably seemed like a stroke of luck when Sally was one of the officers who responded to the call; the assassination appeared to be a genuine one. With a flourish, Sherlock finished his explanation and turned to John for his usual adulation. Lestrade beckoned Sally over for clean-up duty before handing the case over to forensics, and the moment passed.

~~~~~

Later in the evening, sitting on the couch with her girlfriend, Sally told her the story. “It might have been interesting to talk about it with him, but…I think I’m happier with that whole mess in the past.”

Carding her fingers through Sally’s hair, the other woman nodded. “If you don’t mind, I might have a word with my boss about your ex-colleague.”

“I’d be very happy if you did, actually…I don’t want my past affecting you more than it does,” Sally said gratefully.

“Not only will it not affect me, he may be able to take steps to have that portion no longer affect you,” the dark-eyed woman smiled, her hand squeezing affectionately on Sally’s. “I’d rather not lose my investment, either. No promises of course, he’s good but he’s not God, however he’d probably be grateful for the notice if there are armed assassins running about London.”

Sally turned in her lover’s arms and kissed her deeply. “Fair enough, love.”


End file.
